iOwn You
by NagiR
Summary: A perfect bet is concocted. In which the technical producer of iCarly gets a new pet—slave—for a week's time. How will this pet—slave—take to this? Sam/Freddie
1. Prologue: Certain Bets

**AN**: Hello. This is my first crack at a multi-chaptered iCarly fic that I'm posting, so I'm a little nervous. But critique is welcomed with open arms, so give it! xD

**Disclaimer**: I dun own iCarly.

**Warning**: Some cursing, and grammar, and spelling errors.

_A perfect bet is concocted. In which the technical producer of iCarly gets a new pet—slave—for a week's time. How will the pet—slave—take this?_

i**OwnYou**

**Prologue**: Certainly a Certain Bet Would Lead to a Certain Death of a Certain so Called BFF

**Freddie**

Freddie stood in the middle of the living room, thinking how his mother would kill him if she saw the state he was in: covered in maple syrup, and dead flies. It was all Sam's fault! Her, and her stupid bet. It wasn't his fault that he was incapable of performing hip hop dance moves on a spinning platform.

But out of everything that had happened to Freddie, he held a sickening grin on his face, if that was even possible. His hands made fits that were clenching, and unclenching, in an excited sort of way.

He was going to get Sam Puckett back.

He, Fredward Josiah Benson, had just thought up the perfect ploy that would bring Sam Puckett down. Although, probably not for forever, but at least for a little while. But for now, that would be enough for him.

Freddie turned to walk to the bathroom, but before he stepped into it, he thought: _by this time tomorrow, I'm practically going to __**own**__ Sam Puckett._ And he couldn't help but grin at that realization.

—

Freddie sat at his desk, waiting for the school bell to ring that would signal that the school week was over, and the weekend was waiting for him outside. And after a few, horribly long, minutes, he got what he waited for.

The electronic bell sang its monotonous dings, and dongs, and he, along with the rest of his classmates, immediately rushed out of the classroom. He went straight to his locker, and grabbed his necessary schoolwork from his locker, and stuffed them neatly into his book satchel.

Today was Friday, meaning that it was iCarly day, and the day Freddie would carry out his "certain bet", as he called it. The more he thought about the certain bet he was going to commit, the jitterier he became. It gave him an adrenaline rush, and he loved it. He couldn't wait to know what it felt like when he actually completed his certain bet.

Freddie shut his locker, and turned around only to jump at seeing the target of his certain bet right in front of him.

Sam raised her eyebrows at him, and asked: "What're you smirkin' at, dork?"

"Nothing, beast," Freddie lied, "Just thinking about iCarly." He couldn't have Sam knowing about his certain bet, not just yet. She'd have to wait until the end of iCarly that night.

"Whatever," Sam said, waving it off, then sighed. "Carly said we're getting a ride from Crazy today, right?"

Ignoring her crack at his mother, Freddie answered, "Yeah. We just have to wait twenty minutes longer than we would usually because they're having some famous yoga person come, and talk to her yoga class. She was very excited about it this morning. So much that she almost forgot to give me a tick bath." Freddie smiled at the memory almost not having to take said bath.

"Almost..." Sam snorted, and let the information sink in as she stood with her back pressed against a random locker, and arms crossed.

"Hey," Freddie said as he took the same position as Sam, "where's Carly?" He knew Carly was usually one of the first ones to get to the lockers since her class was the closest to them.

Freddie heard Sam mutter something under her breath, but couldn't make it out. "With Mr. Rumb, trying to get some extra help with a project, or something along the lines of that." Sam sighed. "She probably won't be out 'til we're supposed to leave, or a little before that."

"Oh," Freddie said, a little disappointed that his crush wasn't able to wait with the two of them. It also meant that he'd have to bear with Sam alone, without the little protection Carly would've given him. He only hoped that Sam wouldn't try anything rash, like give him one of those—he shuddered at the thought—Texas wedgies she gave Gibby. But as he thought about that category of "wedges", Sam had never given him anything more than just a plain ol'wedge.

Sam narrowed her eyes, and glowered at Freddie.

"What?" Freddie asked. He had noticed that the glare Sam was giving him was more intense than her usual. What was her problem? But then again, Sam really didn't need a reason to glare at him. She hated his guts, after all, and she had stated so on numerous occasions.

"Nothing." She replied in distaste.

Freddie raised his eyebrows at the ham-loving girl beside him. What was up with her? Usually, she'd already have insulted him numerous times in the eight minutes they had been together. After a moment, he shrugged off Sam's odd behavior, and continued to stand in silence with the girl.

Sam, tired of standing for so long, sat on the floor, and soon, Freddie joined her.

—

"And now we'll say our goodbyes!" Carly said into the camera, and then looked at Sam. In a silent agreement, they both shouted: "Goodbye!!" at the same time. "Until next time, dear iCarly—"

"Wait!" Freddie shouted, stopping Sam in the middle of her sentence.

"Yes, Freddork?" Sam asked in a monotonous voice as she watched Freddie put his camera on the tripod.

"I have something to say." Freddie looked at Carly, who held a curious expression, but nodded. Freddie smiled at her, silently thanking her for letting him do this, even though she had no idea what he was about to do.

Freddie stood between Sam, and Carly, and took on a serious face as he stared into his camera. "Now," he started, "we all know that Sam likes to pick on me, calling me names such as Freddork, Fredweird, Tech-nerd, and many more." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam staring at him with a weird expression, and he couldn't help but grin. "Many people who know Sam, knows that she loves to take part in bets, especially ones with me so she can make me lose, and torment me about it.

"So, I'm here," Freddie turned to Sam, who still held a weird expression on her face, but she looked like she was coming to a realization to what he was going to do. "Betting you, Sam Puckett, to be my pet for a week and you'll have to do everything I tell you to within that time period. And if you disobey even one of my orders, you'll have to make out with Gibby for five minutes."

Carly's jaw dropped, and well as Sam's, and Freddie thought that if someone combined the length of the two's dropped jaws, that it would literally touch the floor. "So, do you accept this bet, person who-doesn't-back-down-from-anything?" And it was true, Sam didn't back down from anything, especially not in front of a crowd. And that was why Freddie's plan was foolproof.

"And if I make it through the week without disobeying you?" Sam asked, now fully recovered from her stupor. She looked confident, and that didn't surprise Freddie in the least bit. That was how Sam was: always confident, and never hesitant to a challenge.

"I'll be _your_ personal pet for a week, then." Freddie knew Sam would never last the week with him, and the crazy orders he'd give her. She just couldn't because Freddie was practically staking his life on this bet, fore if he lost it, he knew the hell she would give him.

Sam narrowed her eyes, quickly licked her hand, grabbed Freddie's before he could react, and shook it. "Consider it accepted."

—

_And so an epic bet was thrown into play._

**AN**: Alright. How'd you like it? Good, Bad? Give me some ideas that you'd like Freddie make Sam do. Tell me what you think, so please drop a review, cuz Lord knows that I love them. x3

**Update 3/03/09**: You can vote on my profile for what you'd like to see Freddie make Sam do!


	2. Day One: Upending Doom

**AN**: So, I'm a little woried that this chapter isn't going to live up to your expectations. I consider this chapter slow, cuz it is. Not a lot goes on, but I hope it'll make you chuckle. I believe all the good stuff will come when school rolls around, but hey. **But thank yall for the reviews! I loved every single one. They made me so happy.**

**Disclaimer**: Nope.

**Warning**: Cussing, grammar, and spelling mistakes. D:

_A perfect bet is concocted. In which the technical producer of iCarly gets a new pet—slave—for a week's time. How will the pet—slave—take this?_

i**OwnYou**

**Day One**: The Act of Dismantling Faces with Homemade Feather Dusters of Upending Doom

**Sam**

Sam sat on the edge of the Shay's couch with an irritated look grazing her features. Today was Saturday, which meant no school, and the beginning of being Freddie's slave, or "pet", as he had put it earlier. It was early morning, so Carly wasn't even up yet (nor was Freddie), but that was okay, Sam needed some alone time. She needed to think of a way she could beat Freddie at this. She knew that Freddie knew that she wouldn't be able to last long; she just wasn't the obedient type.

Sam was a rebel, and of course, Freddie had to find a way to use that against her. But she had to win this bet, she absolutely had to beat him because there was no way in hell that she would ever make out with Gibby, let alone for five whole minutes.

Grunting out a sigh, Sam sat up, and started toward the kitchen. When in need of help thinking, food was always a great way to get her brain pumping with energy, plus, she hadn't had breakfast yet, and her tummy was groaning at her.

—

"So, I need some advice." Sam started, looking at the beautiful, untouched ham in front of her. She was sitting at the island in the Shay kitchen with her head down, and arms spread apart on the table so that the ham was sitting right close to her face. Taking in a whiff of the delicious smell that was being emitted from the ham, she smiled, uncharacteristically. "What do ya think I should do about this whole... 'situation'?"

Everything was silent in the room, and Sam had to think that this was one of those moments that happen rarely in the Shay apartment. Or maybe it was just happening because it was only 9:00AM, and no one else was up, yet, or at least so she thought.

"C'mon. You've gotta give me somethin'." Sam told the ham. "Ya can't just leave me hangin'." She was about to continue talking to her ham, until she heard a giggle coming from behind her. Quickly, she turned around to see Carly standing behind her with a smile gracing her face.

"Well," Carly said, "this is random, you talking to the ham that is. But it really isn't unexpected." Carly laughed, and Sam couldn't help but grin at her.

"How long have you been standing there?" Sam questioned her friend, not the least bit embarrassed by Carly observing her little "ham talk".

"Since the word 'advice'." Carly stated in a matter-a-fact tone.

"Hm," Sam snorted. "Carls, how am I gunna survive this?" Sam started probing her ham with her pointer finger. "I know whatever Freddie's gunna through at me, it's not gunna be pretty, at least not on my part." Letting another sigh escape her lips, Sam pulled off a piece of ham, and stuffed it into her mouth.

"I don't know." Carly said, thoughtfully, "You're a strong person; I think you can make it."

"Let's hope you're right, Carls." Sam said, popping another piece of ham into her mouth.

—

"Knock, knock, peoples." Freddie said in a cheerful tone of voice, one that matched his facial expression as he walked into the Shay's apartment.

Sam looked over at her "master" from the couch with a dangerous glare that could have killed any normal person. But since Freddie was someone who'd known her for six years, he was used to such a look.

"Oh, no," Freddie said with a grin. "You'll give your master no such glare," Freddie smirked, "Samantha."

A vein automatically started throbbing in Sam's temple when she heard Freddie say the name she resented the most, well, besides Freddie's name that is. She had made sure that no one was to call her that name. She didn't even consider Samantha to be her real name.

Breathing a sigh, which she noticed she was doing a lot that day, Sam tried wiping the glare from her face, but only managed to make her look like she was about to vomit.

Carly was trying to hide her giggles as she watched her friends' antics, but couldn't quite hold it in. Sam's eye twitched, and she quickly turned to face Carly who was sitting beside her. "Oh, shut it." How could Carly laugh at her? Can you say betrayal? Couldn't Carly see that she was practically dying here?

Freddie narrowed his eyes, "And no snapping at Carly either."

"Figured you'd protect her." Sam kept the same facial expression that made her look like she was sick while trying not to glare. It really wasn't what she wanted to look like, but this would do.

Sam also figured that Freddie would make some snappy comment to her, saying that he'd never give up on Carly, and that he'd be Carly's second husband, or whatever, but he didn't. Freddie just looked at Sam with a little mischievous spark in his eyes, and she could only imagine what he was thinking, because she knew it wasn't going to be good.

"Sam," Freddie started, "You know, my Galaxy Wars action figure collection has been getting a little dusty." He pulled out a rag from his back pocket, and handed it to the ham loving girl in front of him.

Sam looked up at him, and said: "I hate you."

"Hate you too, darling." Freddie stated in a loving manner. He held the rag out, waiting for Sam to take it. With the grin he was wearing, he looked like a man—boy, who was on top of the world.

Sam stood up, and snatched the rag from Freddie's hands. She rolled her eyes as Carly let another giggle escape. Sam turned to her friend, "Why must you continue to be amused by this?"

Carly let her trademark smile graze her lips, and gave Sam the ever famous: "Cause," then chuckled.

—

Sure Freddie had made Sam clean his Galaxy Wars action figure collection, and make him breakfast (which she utterly destroyed, purposefully, but it's not like he knew that) amongst other things that weren't all that big. But so far, making her attend this Germ off Committee's Arts and Crafts day at the Recreation Center was the worst of what Freddie had made her do all day.

Sam sat at the back of the room, where the old people who were too tired to move around were, observing the many germ-freaks that were partaking in the area that was specified as 'Arts and Crafts Station'. There were more stations there, some talking about bacteria, and how to prevent ones' self from becoming sick, and others were there just for people to buy the germ prevention products.

Suddenly, a little boy, who looked old enough to be in 3rd grade passed by Sam, and jumped into this old woman's lap, apparently, showing off this picture he drew. The woman let a warm smile graze her wrinkled, old face, and told him how good she thought it was.

Rolling her eyes at the two, Sam sat back further in the chair, and crossed her arms over her chest. She'd already been her for at least an hour, and twenty minutes, and she was more than ready to leave. Where was that Fredweird, huh?

He (along with Mrs. Benson) had disappeared on her more than fifteen minutes ago, and they were nowhere to be seen in the 'Arts and Crafts Station'. But it's not like she minded not having Freddie around, it just that she felt a little more in place, like she fitted in, when he was with her, but only at this "germ thing", as she called it.

"Sam!"

Hearing the sound of her name, Sam snapped her head around to see Mrs. Benson standing right beside her, wearing her 'Germ off' T-shirt.

"Yola," Sam greeted, using her combination of yo, and hola that she heard last month on some TV show.

The smile Mrs. Benson was wearing faltered a bit, like she was unsure of what Sam was saying, but built it back up in a second. She bent down to Sam's ear and said, "It's almost time for the show! We have to get you ready! So come on, and follow me."

Show? What show? She was going to be in a show? What the ham had Freddie done?!

Sam didn't resist as Mrs. Benson pulled her through the crowd of people, and into some room. She didn't pay attention to her surroundings for she was in a haze of anger that was directed towards Freddie.

It wasn't until Mrs. Benson had stopped that Sam had registered that Freddie was standing in front of her wearing a big, oddly shaped purple costume.

"Okay," Sam started, "What in the ham are you wearing?"

Freddie smirked, "Oh just a giant bacterium-shaped suit." and wiggled his head a little, causing the costume he was wearing to giggle. "You'll be wearing a blue one."

—

Sam hated Freddie. She absolutely, positively, hated Fredward Benson. When this week was over, and she was the victor, of course, she was going to make him do something very stupid, and that would probably end up harming him in more than nine ways. Hell, he deserved to die for making her wear this stupid, janked up thing.

She stood beside the big, purple bacterium that was Freddie as they waited for their cue from the spokesperson who was announcing the upcoming events that the Germ off Committee were doing.

The spokesperson was standing on this stage that was the opposite were her, and Freddie were standing, or rather hiding. The two were told to hide behind this big poster that talked about bacteria, until they were cued to come out, and scare the little children here.

The companion to Freddie's purple costume was the blue one that Sam was wearing. It was itchy, and overall, hard to walk in. She had to waddle, like a penguin for ham's sake!

Suddenly, she was being lightly ushered by Freddie from their hiding place.

"Blaaah." Freddie groaned like something from a cheesy ghost movie. "Fear us, we're bacteria..." He raised his arms, or what arm length he could in that costume.

Sam followed suit, and raised her arms, saying, "We make you sick... Bleeeh..." And soon, many kids were hiding behind their moms, acting like the scared children they were supposed to be. That is, until this one kid shouted, "KILL THEM!!!" and charged at Sam, and Freddie with a feather duster that looked to be one that was made in the 'Arts and Crafts Station'.

The lone solder coming to attack the two was soon joined by many other angry kids, who were carrying many different kinds of anti-bacteria protection.

"Oh, my God!" Freddie shouted with wide eyes as he tried to back—waddle—away from the oncoming stampede.

Sam tried to move backwards from the onslaught, but only managed to trip over seemingly nothing as there wasn't anything to fall over. Doing a quick twist, she turned toward Freddie, whom she thought would catch her, but only ended up having her face planted in his squishy purple chest, and both of them falling to the ground.

"Sam!" Freddie gasped, wiggling beneath her.

Sam made a painful grunt as quite a few kids—she didn't know how many—jumped on her back, and started beating her with hard metal pipes, or so she thought.

Suddenly, the pressure from her back disappeared, and for a moment, she thought it was all over until she was pushed over onto her back. And the next thing she knew was a homemade feather duster that was held by the same 3rd grader she had saw earlier was coming towards her face.

"Gah!"

—

Holding a pack of ice to her eye, Sam let out an exaggerated breath, looked at Freddie with a glare of hatred, and then told him. She was sitting on the island in the Recreation Center's kitchen while Freddie was leaning up against counter opposite from her. He, too, had gotten hurt that scuffle, obtaining a bruise, or two.

For once Sam was glad that Mrs. Benson was so over protective over Freddie. If she hadn't of been there, fending off all of those bloodthirsty munchkins, Freddie and her would've been in worse shape.

"Look," Freddie sighed, all traces of the triumph he had felt this morning gone, "I'm sorry you got hit in the face with a feather duster. I didn't mean for this to happen." He sighed again, and looked up to Sam.

"Whatever, Fredweird." Sam watched as Freddie pushed himself up from the counter and to the one step distance over to her. Looking at him from her one good eye, she saw the grim expression his face wore as he reached up, and took the ice packet from her eye.

Freddie, being quite tall, was able to lean towards Sam's face to examine her eye without having to stand on his toes because of her sitting on a counter. He brushed back the few strands of hair that had moved to her face when the ice pack was removed, and took a closer look at the swollen eye.

Sam could feel the warmth of Freddie's breath on her face, and she thought that was why her cheeks were suddenly feeling hot. She tried to lean back away from him, but he only followed her actions, and leant forward.

"It's starting to blacken..." Freddie whispered, not taking notice to Sam's apparent panic.

"I'm okay." Sam insisted, removing Freddie's tender touch from her face, and jumped down from the counter.

Mrs. Benson burst through the kitchen doors, and headed straight for Freddie. "Are you sure you're okay, dear?" she asked as she held Freddie's face in her tender mother hands.

"Mom! I'm fine!" Freddie shouted, pushing the mad woman away from him.

And for the first time that day, Sam let out a laugh but that didn't last long as Mrs. Benson soon turned around, and started rambling about how she had this herb that Sam must try that could cure her black eye.

"LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU CRAZY WOMAN!!"

**AN**: And so I abruptly end this chapter here. I really don't know what else to put, so whatever. I know this chapter was boring. I wrote it when I was feeling horrible (I'm sick, and my cat just ran away), so that takes it toll here. I'll prolly have it in Freddie's POV next, so hm.

But review, please, because I feel bad, and they'll make me feel better. D:

**Update 3/7/09**: SPECIAL THANKS TO **APATHETICALLY CONCERNED **FOR THE IDEA OF MATCHING COSTOMES. MY INSPIRATION FOR THE GERM COSTUMES CAME FROM YOU!!


	3. Day Two: Nub Bowling

_Yo, did ya think I gave up on this? Well, lookie here! I didn't. It just took me forever to type this all out. And I'm sorry if this is slow and suckish. I still think the most interesting parts of this story shall start when they go back to school. And that's the next chapter. So, stick around! Please..?  
Anyways, here we go..._**

* * *

**

**Day Two**: Bowling for Nubs

**Carly**

The early morning rays of sun made its way through the window of Kosher's Tea Shop, and covered the little space, making it have a warm, homey feel.

The wig that Carly was wearing, along with the heavy set of makeup she had earlier applied, made her look like a red-head weirdo, but ultimately unrecognizable, which was her goal. After taking a sip of her Oolong-flavored tea, Carly set her cup down, and breathed a light sigh as she tapped her polished nails on the wooden table before her.

Suddenly, a chubby looking figure slid itself into the chair in front of Carly, knocking its knee on the bottom of the table in the process. "I've got the stuff." it said.

"Gibby—" Carly whispered, harshly as she glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to them, and then settled her gaze onto the person sitting in front of her. "You were supposed to come in disguise! What if someone should see us! What if Freddie, or Sam, or both of them see us?! I can't lie to them!"

"I'm sorry!" Gibby apologized, "But my mom says that I'm not allowed to wear wigs, and slash or hats anymore! They break my scalp out! And when it does that, it just won't stop itching. And I have to scratch and scratch and scratch it! And then it starts to bleed—"

Carly sighed, "Alright, alright. Just give me 'the stuff'."

"Right!" Gibby reached into his large, dark blue coat, and pulled out a square box wrapped in yellow-orange wrapping paper that said, 'Happy Llama Lickin' Days!'

Carly gave Gibby a weird look, but accepted the package anyway, and stuffed it into the large purse she had brought with her.

"My dad runs his own gift wrap business." Gibby explained.

"Uhm, that's nice, Gibby." Carly said with a small, slightly wavered, smile, as she stood from her seat, "It's a pleasure doing business with you. Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Just call me, relay the info, and I'll be there." Gibby said as stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and walked out of the tea shop. And Carly soon followed suit, heading towards Bushwell Plaza.

Carly loved, and cared for her two friends, and that was the reason she told herself to why she was doing this. They could thank her later.

—

**Freddie**

Nothing could wipe the smug look from Freddie's face as he watched Sam inform some random, old lady that the only reason Swiss cheese had holes in it was because the mold had to be cut out of it. The old lady's expression went from surprise to a slightly scared/worried one, and then she scurried off with her little white dog in tow.

Sam turned back around, with confidence grazing her features. Forget 'nothing could wipe the smug look from Freddie's face'. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get Sam to be embarrassed! He had made her do many different things—things that he was sure would embarrass her! Like, making her go up to random people and say, "I shink kittehs are purrteh" and such, but nothing had worked (yet)!

"Anything else, Fred_weird_?" Sam asked, showing off the lazy smirk known as her trademark by many.

Freddie closed his eyes as he listened to his fellow passing bystanders, and coughed out a sigh. "No..." he said, defeated, as he handed her the smoothie he had held for her when she was talking to the old lady.

"Let's just get on to the Bowler." _And on to your certain doom,_ Freddie added the rest in his mind. His mom was making him go to the bowling alley for some bowling with her insane mom-friends' sons. And he wasn't going to just let Sam off the hook; he was making her come, too.

"I hope these dork-boys aren't going to be as dorky as you." Sam stated as she slurped some of her Blueberry Blast smoothie she had gotten from Groovy Smoothie, Freddie's treat, of course.

Freddie grinned, "Oh, they're much worse. For sure. They'll probably hit on you, too. You know, with _you_ being the first girl they've ever talked to, and all."

And it was then he found himself fallen on the concrete ground, face first; Sam's doing, of course. That only reminded him that he still hadn't made Sam stop hurting, or insulting him, but then he thought that it'd just be weird if he did so. _But_ then again, that was just going against the whole point of the bet, right? Ordering Sam to do things that made her stomach retch, so much so that it'd make her disobey him, then she'd be forced to make out with Gibby.

That was the plan from the beginning, and it was time that Freddie really started to get to work on that.

—

The Bowler wasn't very packed, Freddie noticed. Usually, there were many people—mostly high school students—here on Sunday's because it was the day before school, or work went back in session, and they were getting the most of the last day of freedom before the week started.

But now that Freddie looked, there really was no one here, except for the people here for the mother, son bowling-thing. Had the moms reserved the whole place for the evening for them?

"Your mommy's callin' ya, Benson." Freddie turned to Sam who had her eyebrows raised. Had he been spacing out?

"Uh, right." Freddie started walking towards his mom, and the others who were clustered into two tables: one for the moms, and one of the sons. "C'mon."

Freddie had met them all before; after all, the moms were his mom's best friends. And it was only natural that when they had planned something to do together, they took their sons with them because, like he said before, they were his mom's _best friends_, meaning they had some of her personality because, otherwise, she would've never talked to them in the first place.

"Fredward!" Mrs. Benson started to inspect him, checking for any scratches, or bruises, somewhat disregarding the ones he had gotten yesterday at the Germ off Committee's Arts and Crafts Day. But he wasn't _that_ embarrassed because he knew that the other guys there had gotten treated like this by their moms, at _least_ once, or twice a week. "I'm fine, mom!"

Freddie heard Sam snicker behind him, and apparently so did the other moms, including his.

"Who is she?" Mrs. Bellson asked, curiously from the table she was sitting at.

Mrs. Benson looked at Freddie, sternly. "What's Sam doing here? Freddie, this was supposed to be just you boys!"

Crap. He had forgotten that he hadn't asked his mom, yet. But it wasn't like he was planning on doing so, anyway. He'd thought that his mom would've been long-gone to her Germ off Committee Conference with the other moms by the time he had gotten there, but it was _his_ mom, Marissa Benson, one who had major over-protectiveness of her son, after all. Who was he kidding? Sure wasn't himself.

What was he supposed to say? That he brought Sam here because he wanted to make her do things? No... That sounded a little dirty. AH—Crap! _Stop thinking like that, Freddie, _he thought to himself. He looked towards Sam, silently asking—or rather, telling—her to make something—anything up.

Sam stepped forward, clearing her throat and locked eyes with Mrs. Benson; all eyes were on her, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Benson," Sam said with one of the sincerest voices Freddie's ever heard her use. "But I made Freddie take me here because I wanted to try bowling because I've never done it before."

Freddie didn't know whether that was a lie (Sam never bowling before), or not, he just hoped his mom fell for it. He knew that his mom knew at least _half_ of the stuff Sam was capable of doing.

"Freddie," Mrs. Benson started in a tone that made Freddie wince, "I don't think—"

"Oh, c'mon, Marissa!" Mrs. Randsue said, standing from her seat, and shifting her white pocketbook with multicolored swirls on it to her shoulder, "Let Freddie have his girlfriend here. As long as they don't start doing inappropriate things, Sam"—Mrs. Randsue turned to Sam, silently asking if the name she said was correct, and Sam, who looked as dumbfounded as Freddie, nodded quickly—"can keep score for them. They're going to need one, anyway, since they're all going to be busy, going up against the Pinks!"

Mrs. Benson sighed, looked at her son, who only returned it with a plea in his eyes. "Fine, fine... But no funky stuff!"

Freddie frowned, "Mom! Sam and I aren't even together—just friends!" _If they were even that, _he added in thought.

He had always liked Mrs. Randsue because of how laidback she was compared to the other moms. Sam could definitely keep score for them while they were going up against the Pinks—"What do you mean we're going up against the Pinks?!" Freddie asked, incredulously.

"It is exactly as Mrs. Randsue said," Charles Yicks replied, "Don't you remember from our last practice? The Pinks, they came over, and challenged us to another match, remember?" Scott Randsue nodded along with Charles, and Nelson Bellson.

"We're _so_ going to beat them this time!" Nelson pumped his fist into the air, causing Mrs. Bellson to shout: "Nelson! How many times have I told you that you aren't allowed to do such erratic movements like that?! You could re-pull that muscle of yours!"

Nelson quickly retracted his hand. "I'm sorry, mom."

Freddie didn't bother to look at Sam as she turned to him with one of the most disbelieving looks he'd seen in a while. This was going to be a long day...

—

"The Nub-Nub Peeps..." Sam said, reading the back of the red bowling jacket. Mrs. Benson had let Sam borrow the one she had kept as an extra for Freddie if he had ever messed up his.

Narrowing his eyes, Freddie defended his bowling team's name, "Hey! Nub-Nub happens to be one of the most well respected people in the entire galaxy!"

"Yeah," Sam said, breezily, "It's not doing much for you guys..." she looked around at Freddie's bowling team.

"Well, I know you cannot _possibly_ comprehend, or appreciate the entirety of how AWESOME Nub-Nub is."And then an idea popped into his head. "You know what?"

"What?" Sam challenged with raised eyebrows as she tried on the bowling jacket. It was a bit loose, but nothing she couldn't handle.

Freddie grinned, "Say, 'I love Nub-Nub, he is the coolest in the entire galaxy." It was perfect. He knew she'd die before saying such a sentence about her most hated movie.

"I love Nub-Nub," Sam recited, "He is the coolest in the entire galaxy."

"Yeah—WHAT?!" Freddie shouted. What in the world? He looked at Sam closely. There was no way that that was Sam Puckett because there was no way that she could've said that without some sort of struggle for her voice. There was no way.

"Who are you?" Freddie asked, suspiciously eying the person who he didn't believe to be Sam Puckett.

Sam smirked, and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Scott "So, Sam, right?"

"Yeah..." Sam glared at the boy with brown, curly hair.

And Freddie glared at Sam, and mouthed, 'be nice' to her.

Sam's eye twitched as she threw on a fake smile. "Yes, my name is Sam Puckett."

"Hey! You're from iCarly!" Scott shouted in realization. "I _love_ that show! It makes me laugh so hard."

"Yeah," Charles agreed, "me too. It's hilarious!"

Freddie looked at Sam. She seemed to perk up a bit after hearing their compliments.

"Cool. Glad you like it." Sam stood from her seat, and went to grab a dark purple bowling ball from the rack. She slipped her fingers into the holes, and swung the ball forward, but not actually letting go of it.

"You said you've never bowled before, right?" Scott asked, but didn't wait for an answer, "So, how about I teach you?"

"Huh?" Freddie and Sam said in unison. Freddie looked to Sam, and vice versa. His mouth twitched into a smile. Was Scott making a move on Sam?

"C'mon, Sam," Scott tried to persuade the aggressive blonde as he moved to stand beside her. He grabbed her hand—the one occupied with the bowling ball—and started swinging it a little. "It'll be fun to learn something new, don't you think?"

Sam looked down at their hands, unimpressed, and Freddie had to suppress a hard laugh. He bit down on his bottom lip in a feeble attempt to not let it out, but it came out, anyway in the form of a light chuckle.

Sam glanced at Freddie, then turned to Scott, and opened her mouth to reject his offer when Freddie thought it a good time to speak up: "That sounds like a great idea. Sam needs to learn how to bowl, anyway. Because she might have to fill in for us, in the case of one of us is unable to do so. And besides, we've got a good thirty minutes before the Pinks arrive."

The glare Sam was giving Freddie could've killed one (if not all) of the three boys standing in that room if they looked into her eyes. Freddie just smirked in return, and mouthed, 'do it' to her. Oh, the power of being able to do that to Sam was making him a little dizzy, and he had to sit down from it all. It was dizzying, but it felt _so _good.

Sighing, Sam looked to Scott, "Thanks, I need some teachin' with bowling."

As Scott led Sam over to one of the lanes onto the far right, Charles, and Nelson joined Freddie at his table.

"Hey, Freddie, aren't you angry?" Nelson asked, taking a sip from his Peppy Cola.

Freddie gave him a weird look, "About what?"

"What do you mean, 'about what'?!" Charles asked, incredulously with wide eyes.

Freddie scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion, "It is exactly how I've said it: _about what_?" What in the world were they talking about?

"Gah!" Nelson gasped, "About Sam, and Scott! Aren't you angry that Scott is _teaching,_" Nelson used air quotes when he said the emphasized word. "Sam?"

"Okay," Freddie sighed, "What are you _are_ you talking about?"

Charles leant over the table and whapped Freddie on the forehead. "Don't you get it?!" Charles shouted, and then lowered his voice, "Scott's making a move on Sam, _your girlfriend! _Aren't you in the least bit angry at him for that?!"

At this, Freddie had to let out laugh that echoed throughout the building, until Charles and Nelson covered his mouth, simultaneously. "Shhh!"

Once his laughing subsided, and hands were removed from his face, Freddie attempted to set the two straight, "Listen, me and Sam—we're not together. And besides, Scott's a nerd, like us, what's Sam going to see in him, because she's really not into guys like us."

"I don't know if you should say that," Charles said, lightly, "She does hangout with you,"

"And Scott isn't exactly one of us, either." Nelson added, "He acts differently when he's around other people. Meaning, he's kind of a player. Trust me; I've seen him in action before."

"What?" Freddie asked, not believing his friends' words, "Scott's not a player! He's a Galaxy Wars-loving nerd."

"Don't believe us? Look at them right now." Charles pointed behind Freddie, signaling him to look.

Freddie followed Charles' finger to see Sam laughing—LAUGHING!—with Scott behind her, holding her hand, and the bowling ball. She wasn't supposed to be having fun! She was _supposed_ to be living a nightmare! Was that Scott's hand on her waist—what the hell? Sam wasn't one to let someone touch her like that...

Freddie turned back to the two with a frown setting upon his face.

"_See?_" they asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Freddie answered, defeated. Did Sam _always_ have to win? _No, _a voice in the back of his head said, _nonononononononono. She can't win! Get up, and make her have a miserable time!_ And so, for the first time in his life, Freddie listened to the voice inside of his head, and stood from the table.

Nelson and Charles both smirked at Freddie's action to 'go get his girl'.

Freddie took long strides towards the lane Sam and Scott occupied.

"Sam!" Freddie announced his arrival by exclaiming Sam's name. The two turned to look at him with a surprised expression.

"Yo, Freddie, how goes it?" Sam let the hand she was holding the bowling ball with fall limply to her side.

"Oh, nothing." Freddie admitted, "I've just got to talk to you for a moment!" he grabbed Sam's forearm, and started dragging her off. "Sorry, Scott," he called back to the boy, "This'll only take a minute, tops."

Freddie made his way to the door labeled 'Men's Restroom,' opened the door, and flung Sam into it, and shut the door behind himself after he entered as well.

Sam dropped her bowling ball, and quickly turned to Freddie with a look of disarray, "What the hell, Benson? I was actually having some fun in there!"

"Yeah!" Freddie shouted, "A little _too _much fun, I'd say, _Puckett!_" he flailed his arms around like a mad chicken in an octopus suit. "You're supposed to feel like you're living in hell!"

Realization dawned on Sam because she formed this grin that made her look like a crazed wolf getting ready to chomp down on its meal.

"Gah!" Freddie shouted, "STOP grinning like that!"

"Freddie—" Scott came into the room, followed by Charles and Nelson. "Is everything alright? We heard screaming..."

Freddie quickly turned to face the three, and smiled. "N-nothing happened!" he squeaked like he was still going through puberty all over again. "We were just—just talking and whatnot."

"Oh..." Nelson trailed off, "Well, look, the main reason we came here is to tell you that the Pinks just arrived. And they're getting a little impatient."

Before walking out, Freddie picked up the forgotten purple bowling ball Sam had dropped on the floor earlier.

—

The Pinks' bowling team consisted of the four people: Debbie Can, Marshall Rice, Polly Wall, and Emma West. Freddie knew from past experiences that they were four people (or its, as Freddie called them) normal people did not want to mess with.

Especially not Marshall Rice, the leader, or team captain, or whatever. Freddie thought of her as the random piece of gum that someone through out of the car door window when all the flavor was chewed out of it and got stuck on the bottom of someone's shoe. The piece of gum that took many attempts to scrape off. The piece of gum that got so annoying that you just wanted to dump your shoe into the trashcan.

"Are you ready for a butt kicking, Nub-Nub Peeps?" Debbie asked with her hands resting on her hips like she was something else.

"NO! You're the one who's going to get a kicking of your posteriors, you Pinks!" Nelson exclaimed, shooting out his finger at the girls.

The four laughed, until Marshall stopped abruptly, and the other three followed suit.

"Oh," Marshall cooed, eyeing Sam, "You have your own little pet now, I see."

Freddie had to resist the urge to laugh for the second time that day. Marshall didn't know how true that statement was.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked through gritted teeth. "Pet? Did you just call me their pet?"

"But of course," Polly interrupted with a grin, "Can you not hear? Marshall clearly just said, 'you have your own little pet now, I see'."

Freddie took a glance at Sam only to see her face flushed a steamy red. He knew that if he didn't intervene anytime soon, that the Pinks were going to have to forfeit because they would be incapable of movement. But watching it play out for just a little bit longer wouldn't be that bad, right?

**Wrong**.

Sam lunged at Polly with, what Freddie swore were, her sharpened wolverine and claws. They hit the floor with a dull thud, and a sharp scream from Polly.

"Get her off! Get her off!" the poor girl screeched, "Graaahh!!" her voice reached in unnatural pitch, and made them cover their ears from the sound.

Freddie stood unfazed by Sam's actions as he was accustomed to it while the others stood in shock and awe of it all—Pinks: shocked, Nub-Nub Peeps: in awe.

"Get—Get your animal off of her, you FREAKS!" Emma screamed, pointing at Freddie. And he sighed, and did as she asked. He was sure the girl had enough. Even he could only last three minutes with Sam (and that was only after years of experience and hard practice), and she was almost up to 45seconds.

Freddie cautiously, bent down, after careful maneuvering, and wrapped his arms around Sam's waist in an attempt to pull her from her victim, but only succeeded in angering Sam further. She moved to stand on her knees, whipped around, and hooked an arm around Freddie's leg, bringing him down into the scrap. "Aw, man!" he yelped, flailing his arms as he went down.

The next thing Freddie knew, him and Sam were both on their knees, and he was holding Sam's wrists, as he tried to overpower her, but her brute strength was too much for him. He went down, falling on his back, and Sam scampered on top of his chest, still grasping his wrists.

Sweat trickled down the side of Freddie's forehead, and he felt Sam's chest as it heaved up and down from the harsh breathing she was committing. Something warm started to boil in the bottom of his stomach, and he wasn't sure if it was from the cucumber puffs his mother forced him to eat, or something else.

"Sam!" he rasped, letting his muscles relax, defeat clearly reining in his expression.

Apparently, coming over her rage, Sam quickly let go of Freddie's wrists, and sat up. Her cheeks were flushed red. "What the—where'd that girl go?" she turned her head around to find her intended target—victim.

"Ahem—"

Freddie, along with Sam and the others, turned to the maker of such noise: Scott.

"Well," Scott spoke, like he was in a daze of what just happened, "I—let's just get on with the game, and forget about this... little fiasco... okay?"

—

Freddie leaned over the sink, and looked at himself in the mirror, trying to adjust the band-aid he was holding into a correct position for applying to his cheek. Apparently, Sam, or Polly, one of the two, had gotten him with their fingernails. When his mom saw this, she was going to freak, and probably make him eat those nasty herbs from that specialist who lives in Taiwan. Again.

"You never said stop..."

"Gu-wah!" Freddie dropped the band-aid into the semi-wet sink. "Aw, man..." he picked up the no unusable band-aid, and threw in into the large trashcan that was almost overflowed with those used harsh-feeling napkins. He turned to see Sam, standing in front of the men's restroom door.

"What?" he asked, a little annoyed over the fact of his wet band-aid.

"You never said stop... ya know, in the fight-thing." she said, taking a step forward.

Freddie looked at Sam with a confused expression. What did she mean by, 'you never said stop'? And then a realization dawned on him. She meant, that he hadn't commanded her to stop fighting that girl, or him. She was afraid, if that was even possible, that he _had _told her to stop, and she didn't obey.

"Yeah, you're right." Freddie said, pulling another band-aid from the mini-first aid kit his mom made him take.

"Hm," Sam grunted as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. And that was when Freddie noticed that her nose looked raw.

"When'd you get that?" Freddie asked, pointing to the scrape on her nose, and Sam grunted again. "Dunno," was his answer, and he knew that Polly must've gave it to her when they were going at it.

"Well, it looks real good right next to that black eye of yours." he joked, as he pulled out the Neosporin, and dabbed it onto the band-aid. "C'mere," and Sam did as he commanded, only stopping a couple of inches away from him.

Freddie took the band-aid, and went to place it where the scrape was, but Sam moved back, without actually moving her feet. "What're you doin'?" she asked, "I don't need you to take care of me!"

And here was where the power Freddie gave himself came into play, "Shut up, and let me do this, Sam. You don't want it to get infected!" Freddie moved to place the band-aid on Sam's face again, this time, without her resistance. He smoothed out the band-aid edges once he had got it on there, correctly, and stepped back.

Sam inspected herself in the mirror, "It looks like I'm trying to hide a humongous zit." she deadpanned, poking at the band-aid.

"No, it looks like you've just slipped on the floor, and fell, face first, onto the edge of a toilet seat." Freddie corrected with a smile.

"Like that makes sense..." Sam said, still looking in the mirror, and poking at her nose.

Freddie went to the sink next to the one Sam was occupying, and to apply the band-aid to his own wound. He hated trying to put those things on himself; his mom always did it for him. Suddenly, the band-aid was snatched from his shaky hands. He turned to see Sam standing before him with his band-aid in her hands, and the next thing, he felt a semi-powerful sting on his cheek.

"OW!" Freddie held his cheek in his hands, feeling the sting, and the band-aid. Sam had just slapped—_SLAPPED, _the band-aid on him. "What did you do that for?!"

"You're such a wimp. You were actually shaking, tryin' to put that band-aid on. To put it this way, I did you a favor," Sam explained, "We have a game to get to, remember?"

Freddie narrowed his eyes into a glare. Sam was right; the others had let them—or rather him, at the time—clean themselves up before they actually started the game. He had already taken fifteen minutes.

"Whatever," Freddie said, as he walked out, "but this isn't over, Sam!"

—

"We lost," Freddie announced as he walked into the Shay's apartment, followed by Sam, who made a beeline towards the kitchen, and practically dove into the fridge.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Carly said, a little confused, but apologetically from over in the kitchen, "Lost what?"

Freddie sighed, "Apparently, the Nub-Nub Peeps—"

"You're bowling team?" Carly asked, as she sat down on the couch, taking the cup of tea she had gotten from the kitchen with her.

"Yeah—" Freddie stated, only to be interrupted by Sam. "How'd you know what his bowling team's name is?" she asked Carly, as she walked from the kitchen with a chicken leg in her hand.

"Because she actually pays attention to when I talk, _Sam_." Freddie growled, clearly annoyed at the blonde. "Apparently, the Nub-Nub Peeps had a match with the Pinks. And because of _Sam_, we lost."

"Oh, please!" Sam shouted, "It wasn't my fault that ya'll suck!" she stomped towards the couch.

"No, but it _is _your fault that you messed up the game points!" Freddie stood from the couch.

"Oh, no! Do _not_ pin that me! Blame this all on yourself for not teachin' me how to score it all!"

"Well, if you needed help, all you had to do was ask!"

"I _did _ask! But you were all, 'hush Sam, I'm tryin' to concentrate'!"

"ENOUGH!!" Carly screamed, standing from the couch. "Will you two just can it?! I'm going to start our movie night with or without you two! Decide right now, because when I press play, there will _not _be any talking."

"Fine," Freddie and Sam said in unison, both sitting on the couch on either side of Carly.

"Yay! Movie time!" Carly said happily as she clicked the play button on the remote, and the movie started.

—

By the time Freddie got home, it was seven o'clock, and his mom was ranting about the cut on his cheek. But he expected it; it wasn't anything new to him.

Freddie walked into his room, shutting the door tightly behind, and jumped onto his bed, not bothering to change into his PJ's, yet. His hand reached to touch the cheek where Sam had earlier preformed her little act of 'kindness'. And for some reason, his cheek felt a little warmer than usual.

But he just shrugged it off, and turned on his side with a yawn. And he couldn't help but think that tomorrow was going to be the day that Sam regretted ever accepting the bet with him. There was so many things that he could think she could do at school that would ruin her reputation, and he knew that her rep. meant everything to her.

With a smile, Freddie fell into a nice sleep, only to be awaken thirty minutes later to his mom fussing about him not taking his tick bath, yet.

* * *

  
_So, I hope this didn't disapoint you. I try not to do long chapter like this, cuz they usually don't turn out all that good. But, review, please?  
Hopefully, the next chapter shall be out earlier than what it took to get this out._


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